We toured Glasgow for about a day before we had to go back to England. It wasn't at all what I expected. Everyone was telling us that we would get stabbed multiple times followed by being spat upon and waterboarded for information regarding any information that may lead to their victory against Holland in their next football match (I tend to exaggerate sometimes). We were also told that haggis was the most vile thing and that we should run from it like the plague.
Instead, we decided to live off the seat of our pants and let Lucy G. find us a good place to eat. She gave us a couple of options.
Traditional pub food using only locally available foods. The menu changes every week and sometimes they run out of stuff. It's well known among the hipsters. The waiters wore vintage t-shirts with American references (i.e. Berkeley, Oklahoma State football, etc.). One of their gimmicks was non-matching silverware and plates. They also have live bands play there. It's best to call ahead to get a table because they get pretty busy.
Option 2. An Indian food place where they wear turbans AND kilts.
There really is no explanation needed. How many opportunities do you have to mix culture? I did try to do that once. It turned out horrible.
It was settled then. Me and Sean told Lucy G. that the Indian food place was it. She placed some calls to her people and they were unable to locate this Holy Grail of culture fusion. We ended up going to The butterfly and the pig. It was amazing. The price was really cheap (compared to London). I would highly recommend Lucy G. as a tour guide but apparently she got a job in fancy shmancy London and she may go away.
If you're interested in reading the menu you can click here and here. We did end up having a starter portion of haggis to share between me, Sean, Lucy G. and her roommate.
I know Lucy G. gets embarrassed when I talk about her too much. I'll just say that she was a wonderful hostess and made our Glasgow experience very enjoyable. That's it. Was that painful Lucy G.?
When we got back to Lucy G.'s parent's house, we thought it might be a good idea to get some rest. Our flight home the next morning would take off pretty early in the morning and we wanted to make sure we were there on time. The next morning we awoke to the smell of bacon. REAL bacon, none of this streaky crap we have in the land of the free. We had bacon sandwiches and juice. It was an amazing send off meal.
Fast forward to the airport. Upon arrival we were blessed with an amazing sight. Kilts. Everywhere. Lucy G. had been proven wrong. Not only were there kilts in abundance, but also silly hats with pheasant feathers sticking out the top about 4 feet in the air above them. It was magical. Lucy G. shook her head in disbelief and parked illegally to send us off.
Once inside, we realized that there were more kilts in the airport than trousers and skirts combined. The Scots were sending us off in their own way. We ran into a place that sounded more like a challenge for Sean rather than a restaurant.
I hadn't shaved so I was a little scared to fly (I am often mistaken as a terrorist when I have any kind of facial hair. For this reason, I have to show up to the airport very early when I fly). My fears were unfounded because I went right through security and into the waiting area to get onto the plane.
...or so I thought. Upon getting onto the plane, the Spanish stewardess from hell asked to see my boarding pass. I have NEVER been asked for my boarding pass once on the plane. She didn't check anyone else's except mine. I think I might have been profiled. I showed her my boarding pass and continued to find my seat.
Here's where it got fun. Between Sean and I was an empty seat. It was quickly filled by a guy named Colin. We have reason to believe Colin is a liar because as we know, his real name was Scott. Scott was really friendly. He told me all about his recent divorce and hard times. I felt for him, I really did. That's when the Spanish stewardess from hell came on the loudspeaker telling us to put on our seatbelts and blah blah blah. We were to turn off ALL electronic devices. That's when Scott let me in on a little secret.
"The Tartan Army is about to sing," Scott said. "Sing?" I asked. "Yes, they always sing when the plane takes off." "Will they sing during the flight?" "Probably."
I couldn't risk it. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. Sorry about the bad camera angles. I didn't want the camera confiscated by you know who.
Scott offered to buy us drinks. I told him that we couldn't possibly because Sean is an angry drunk. He laughed and bought himself some overpriced beer. I then got to talking to Scott and could understand about 80% of what he was saying. I was pretty proud of myself for understanding that much! When I didn't understand I pretended to stretch out my hurting leg (it really was hurting from the hike). The drink cart never made it past our row. The rowdy part of the Tartan Army kept buying booze. It was a 8:00am flight.
By the way, the Tartan Army is those loyal fans of the Scotland Football team that will go to away games. Good bunch of guys! Well...that's pretty much it for Scotland. We landed in England and made it back to Burgess Hill, where dreams come from.
Sorry for the long delay. Before we get to Sean's kilt, I promised some friends I would throw something up. This is for you guys:
Rowdy.
Roddy.
Piper!
This is really the only reason I went to Scotland. Did you know Roddy Piper was really Canadian? Anywho, the kilt and bagpipes were borrowed from the National Piping Center in Glasgow. Scott let me hold them for the picture. Real nice lad. If you have any interest in knowing more about bagpipes, you should go visit them. I think there's a picture of Scott on their website too.
Right.Onto Sean's kilt experience. Sean didn't know that kilts are really expensive. So we looked into buying what are called "fun kilts." Fun kilts aren't specific to any clan. They are used for fun events like sports and tossing logs.
Sean: Hi. I'm looking for a kilt. She: Well, ya came to the right place laddie! Sean: Will you help me find one? I'll make it worth your while. ;) She: Oh! (she blushes) What size waist are ya? Sean: (Fill in with an innuendo) I'm a 32. She: Well let's try a 30 and a 34. That should do!
The lady and Sean disappear into the fitting room and Sean comes out wearing a kilt which is a tad tight. The lady was nowhere to be seen. (Ok, so I might have exaggerated the flirting a bit) Here's Sean's reaction:
The first one was too tight! A stranger with an affinity for men with kilts ran over to Sean to tell him that this kilt was not right at all. He began grabbing Sean's waist and moving the kilt about like they were doing a modern day pairs dance of the twist. It was entertaining. The look on Sean's face was one of confusion and horror. The woman who was originally attending him finally came out from where she was hiding and told him that this kilt was all wrong. She scolded him a bit and told him to try the 34 size ones. He came back out and she told him that he should buy those. He did and we were on our way.
When we got to Scotland, Lucy G. told us we probably wouldn't see any people in kilts. So far we had seen one guy crossing the road in one and now Sean. We would later see more...I'll update more as I have time.
The train ride was a little disappointing. Don't get me wrong, the views were phenomenal. I guess what was most depressing was when I noticed that the train covered in 25 minutes what took us 2 days to accomplish. Needless to say, I'm a huge fan of technology. Imagine if we were just walking everywhere all the time? We'd never get anything done! We'd always be walking places! Anywho, Sean was pretty tired (as he always is) and he decided to take a nap on the train. Here's what he missed:
...houses.
We finally arrived at Glasgow Queen Street Station. It was windy inside...or that's what you might believe from this photo. Sean hasn't been able to stand straight since our WHW trip.
I called Lucy G. and she said that she was stuck in traffic. This gave us some more opportunity to take some photos. Well, it afforded ME the opportunity to take photos because Sean's camera was still lacking power. Both Sean and I found our own gems. First, Sean's.
"Go pose over there, I'll take an awesome photo!" Sean exclaimed with much glee in his voice.
"Wha?" I asked.
"Just pose over by that coffee shop! It's going to be awesome!"
"Uhm. Ok. Freak."
He snapped the photo of me.
Poor guy needed help. Sean did so by trying to make him an internet star.
As you can tell, I'm only in about 10% of that picture. He really only wanted to get a picture of Scott, Christopher Lloyd's cousin that just got beat up by WHO DO YOU THINK? THE LIBYANS!
The next one is my gem. Where does Superman go to the restroom? BAM! We found it. And if we were super enough, we too (for 20p) could use the same exact toilet. Too bad we only had pound coins.
Superloo! Just there!
My phone rang. It was Lucy G. telling us that we needed to get out there quick because she was parked illegally (again). She was at the car park entrance trying to actually park legally. Unfortunately, there weren't any available spaces. She told us that a voice from the little box was shouting at her to move. Lucy G. tried to reason with her that since the car park is full, nobody would be coming in except for her when she saw someone leaving. The voice disagreed. Many times. We came out just in time and the voice was ignored as we loaded our packs into the spacious Polo. Off we went for showers and shopping! By shopping I mean eating. That's all I bought. Sean, however bought many more things.
In case you're wondering what Lucy G. looks like when she drives, look below. I like to tell people she's flipping the 'V' to everyone in her way. She might have been pointing out some places of interest. LIKE THAT GUY THAT JUST EFFING CUT HER OFF!
Back at Lucy G's parent's house we showered and I borrowed some socks. I thought I had brought an extra pair for our fun day after the hike. Thankfully Scott (Lucy G's dad) had some socks I could borrow.
Awesome. I was all set. Thanks Scott (and Lucy G.). As I turned to my right I was taken back by the view. The place is called Castle Semple. Apparently it used to be some kind of estate that was sold off in bits. Lucy G. grew up in this house. She told us how she used to come home from school every day and play on the power lines as a kid. That's a lie, she only did that on the weekends.
After we dolled ourselves up, we all went to Glasgow. By we I mean Lucy G., Sean and I. The first thing I saw:
I could tell this was going to be a good day. Lucy G. made sure to bring her best walking shoes. I think they were canvas shoes. Highly effective in the rain I might add. Our first stop was to get Sean a kilt. I'll end there. I'm getting pressured by certain people to update. They're threatening my life so I'll put the rest of it up at a later time.
Our last day. Sean couldn't remember where we were supposed to leave the key to our wigwam. Good thing we paid cash. Today was going to be our shortest day. It started off cold, windy and rainy as usual. We decided to leave early so that we could catch our 9:30am train back down to Glasgow where Lucy G. would pick us up (hopefully).
The first landmark on the last leg of our journey was more waterfalls. These were slightly bigger than the ones we had seen previously. Apparently they have a name.
I might have forgotten to mention the many fences that are along the WHW. These fences serve many purposes. Their main purpose is to keep animals from leaving certain places.
Then the cows came home. We opened up the gate to get through when we were swarmed with a SWAT team of cows. Thank goodness they weren't very stealthy. They looked very hungry and vicious but our survival skills really helped us "battle through."
What I really mean to say is that we walked by as the mooed in our general direction. Clearly, they must have figured we were not in fact farmers with food. We were men! Men too tough to die...from the death rays coming from the cows' eyes (Sorry, the last day was really not at all exciting)!
These weren't the last cows we would encounter on our last day. We came to about the last two miles or so of our ENTIRE hike and we managed to keep ourselves relatively clean. That's when the cows deployed their most dangerous weapon on us.
Poop. With mud.
A worthy foe. These cows think of everything. Sean decided to play the hero and shoo them away. They didn't listen. Instead they created a roadblock of the future hamburgers of the UK and fecal matter. These cows were dumb but persistent. They didn't want us to make our train.
Sean finally figured out that the magic word to make the cows moooove (see what I did there?). "OI!" That's it. As soon as he said that, it was like Moses and the Red Sea. That didn't really help the state of the trail though. Our boots were almost filled to the brim with fecal slop when we finally reached the point where we were to head towards the Crianlarich train station.
With the WHW behind us, we had a small amount of hiking to go before reaching our magical train ride. It wasn't long before the train station was in sight. It even boasted of a tearoom! I wasn't keeping my hopes up because April 1st was still quite a few days away. Sean saw a map and took the opportunity to sum up the last 4 days of our lives. Feel free to skip this.
We crossed the road and got to the train station around 8:00am. All we could smell was the aroma of perfectly cooked Bacon. Notice I capitalized the word. That's how important it was and continues to be. This was a clear indicator that the tearoom was in fact open...or that someone had Bacon scented incense.
A little further up the way there was a phone which told you if your train was on time or not. I've heard some horror stories about the punctuality of the British train system as a whole so I decided to give it a ring before Bacon. Scott picked up the phone and told me that the train was to take off at precisely 9:36am. That was good enough for me.
Press 1 for Scott. Press 2 for Scott. Press 3 for Bacon.
Ah, the tearoom. Walkers welcome. WHW paraphernalia lined the walls and cabinets of the tea room. The smell of Bacon filled the air. I ordered a hot Bacon roll (Bacon sandwich) and a hot chocolate. Sean had a Bacon and tomato toastie (grilled cheese sandwich with Bacon and tomato). We enjoyed it thoroughly.
It was time to call Lucy G. She said that her schedule would allow her to pick us up at 11:30am at Queen Street Station in Glasgow. Did I mention she's the best? The train was in fact, on time-ish and we hopped on.
That's it. That's the end of the trip, the WHW anyway. No dramatic ending. Sorry. You can start from the beginning if you like. I'll continue on with the train ride and Glasgow on the next entry.
We saw a man and his two kids that were on holiday. Apparently he was English and Sean tried to do his southern accent. Sean wasn't really expecting the man to be English and it threw him off. This meant that Sean's southern twang turned into a southern american/English accent. We had to leave quickly because Sean was about to burst out it uncontrollable laughter.
No yee-haw. No nothing.
The next 7 miles or so we read were the hardest of the WHW. We figured we should probably get a move on if we wanted to get to Beinglas (we belive that's pronounced ben-glass) Farm before nightfall. The trail was really rough. Boulders were abundant. Both of our joints felt like we were pushing 65 years of age and it wasn't getting any better.
The map showed that we were coming up on Rob Roy's cave. I really hoped that we wouldn't miss it. It was just off the WHW actually. We almost missed it.
That's a lie. Some tourist decided it a good idea, once upon a time, to write "CAVE" in 3 foot letters. Thank you retard.
A few miles later we ran into another deserted cottage...or was it?
If you'll notice, there is smoke coming out of the chimney on the right side. It's not a cottage at all. It's called a bothy. What's a bothy? I'm glad you asked. Upon entry we noticed there was a very confused man inside. He claims his name is Raymond, but we all know this to be false. His name is actually Scott.
Scott's services were not free. We bribed Scott with food to narrate for us. I gave him this:
It resembles a brick of grass with dried banana chips inside. The taste is what you'd imagine. On the positive side, it actually provides the user with a lot of energy and added alertness. I tested this when I was in college. I took one (it sounds like a drug when I say it like that) before a contracts class and stayed awake! Not only did I stay awake, I was even attentive! Every other time I went to class, I fell asleep. I thought Scott would benefit greatly from this hippie bar.
The remaining part of the hike was not pretty, the views of the lake ceased, I was sore and in need of a break so I decided to take a video for JJ (Sean's younger sibling).
Speedy McSpeedy and turned on the afterburners. I didn't really see him much until we reached the farm. When I finally caught up with him he told me that his knee was really bothering him and that if he had stopped to wait for me, he wouldn't have been able to get going again.
So we had finally made it to Beinglas Farm. It really wasn't a farm at all. It was more of a field with Wigwams and amenities! Man, it even has its own website! The excitement was almost too much to bear. I'm not sure how long Sean had been there by the time I got to our Wigwam. But he had enough time to go talk to Scott (by the way, in case you haven't noticed...all males in Scotland are called Scott. It's a well known FACT), pay Scott for our Wigwam and also start unpacking stuff.
Not much to look at, but it kept us from rain and wind for the night. Also, if you were bold enough to visit the site it lists the many exciting things to do at Beinglas Farm.
For example:
Seating for forty people
Kitchen area with large cooker
Laundry with ironing & drying facilities
Pay-phone
Drinks machine
Pool table
Campsite Shop (well stocked it says)
Toilets
Showers
This sounds like an amazing place, right? I felt like I needed, nay, deserved some Haribo Starmix. The well stocked campsite shop shouldn't have a problem fulfilling that need. I went to Scott and went down the list you see above. Scott was in a high viz jacket and was remodeling the interior of the main building. This main building was the place where all said amenities were.
Each question was followed by some Scottish gurgles and an occasional clearing of his throat and then finally English: "April 1st." It took me a while to figure out what was going on. That's when it hit me. Please tuck this information away and never forget what I'm about to tell you.
NOTHING IN SCOTLAND OPENS UNTIL APRIL 1ST.
The showers were actually open. But that really didn't matter. We were lucky to even get a wigwam. Tomorrow was going to be our last 7 miles. We had packed an extra dinner so that night we had two dinners instead of one. We thought we were entitled to such a luxury. We even showered (separately) and got into warmish clothes. We hung up our wet clothes on the indoor clothing line and went to bed. I slept like a log.
After spending the night waiting for the Scottish Police to hunt us down, it was finally time to go. We made sure to get an early start this time because of what had happened the day before. I took a little walk around while waiting for our water to boil in the morning and noticed a few things.
1. We were not the only campers with the audacity to camp on the porch of a closed down youth hostel in silent protest. There were two other tents on the other side of the building.
2. Our youth hostel (because we've taken it captive) looked like this (notice our pitched tent):
It's funny because on the internet it said that it was supposed to look like this:
3. I am pretty sure I saw blue sky. I didn't want to mention it out loud or else I might jinx our day.
Upon further walking down the way a bit I noticed that there was a sign which we hadn't bothered to read the night prior.
NO UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY. Awesome.
We quickly ate our oatmeal and Sean expressed his need to drop some potatoes in the stew. Yes, lovely. He trod off to find himself a secluded spot in which to dig a pit of at least 6" (or 15.24 cm, depending if you're a communist or not) and relieve himself.
"Don't crap yourself," I yelled.
In return I just got the Chitwood scowl face. Fine. I was just trying to give some friendly advice when pooping in the woods. I spent the next few minutes getting my gear together when Sean came back. He returned with a triumphant smile. It looked like he had just killed an elephant with a musket. Sean started to gather his gear when all of a sudden he got this puzzled look on his face. This was followed by constant sniffing as if to insinuate that I, Rod Miller the invincible, had just crapped myself. The opposite was true.
Sean wiping up his pride.
What followed this morning were some of the most beautiful landscapes we would see during our trip.
It proved to be a sunny morning. Cold, but at least it wasn't raining like it had been the day before. The clouds moved in and out but never threatened any rain. That's when we ran into a certain landmark that might have proved useful the night before.
Ah yes, the Rowardennan Youth Hostel. And it looked to be breaking the law by being open before April 1st. Just our luck. I fully blame Sean and nobody else.
We continued our march when a tree offered to take our photo. We didn't really run into many people while on the remote parts of the trail. That being said, there are very few pictures of us both.
Don't listen to what anyone says, especially an indigenous conifer. They lie. Trees are no good at taking pictures.
There were tons of waterfalls all over the place. The tree decided it would be good to have that in the background. Sean also felt compelled to tell about waterfalls.
As I mentioned we found a lot of random trash along the way. We have reason to believe that, not only was this an old railway or military path, but also an extreme biking trail in the 80's. Here's undeniable proof.
It started getting warm so Sean decided it was time to stop and think if a change in clothing would be appropriate. Here's a picture of him doing so:
I'm an idiot.
After some quiet reflection this is what I saw...
Shazaaam! Sean usually hikes in board shorts. It's the California in him...or the gayness.
Some more scenery with non-funny commentary (or more pictures at the request of Chris):
This is an official WHW marking post. The symbol is a thistle.
In honor of Comer, may I present a Comer Estate.
We finally made it to Inversnaid. The only thing we could really tell was the whole town consisted of a few houses and this ridiculous hotel. It was a really nice looking hotel surrounded by waterfalls and the lake. For goodness sake, the hotel had their own boat!
We decided we should eat stuff and rest for a few minutes. It was our half way point to our final destination for the day, Beinglas Farm near Inverarnan. We checked our water reservoirs and noticed they were pretty empty. Sean and I both looked around for a spigot but to no avail. Sean then had a stroke of brilliance. "I'll just go in and ask where we can fill up." "Uhm...looking like that?" I asked.
"Yeaaaah. Maybe you should go in, Rod."
I left my pack OUTSIDE with Sean and went in. There I found a friendly employee that directed me towards the place where I could fill up my reservoirs. The bar. Really?
I was greeted at the bar by this woman:
She greeted me with an un-Scottish accent. "How can I help you?" "I was wondering if you could fill these up for me," I said while holding up my two empty water reservoirs "...with water?" She asked. "Yeah, or lager. Whatever is free!"
No laugh, no smile, nothing.
"I am from Hungary."
I see, I said to myself. This explains her immunity to humor. She took my reservoirs and filled them up. I tried to make her laugh again.
"I once knew a man from Hungary. He made me Mexican food and was angry all the time."
Still nothing. The story was true, however. There's a Hungarian man in Phoenix that runs a Mexican "restaurant" in a very angry manner. I thought I was going to have to do dishes because the tip I left was insufficient. I believe the place is called Dina's. I used to work near there when I made architectural models. The place is lovely. It's surrounded by industrial buildings and strip clubs.
I then mentioned something to her that I would regret at the end of the trip. "Can you please make sure those lids are on tight? If not, water will go all over the place."
I didn't realize what I had just done. I had just asked a Hungarian woman to make sure something was on tight. By the way, I lied earlier, the woman actually looked like this:
I'm pretty sure that I don't have fingerprints left after taking the lids off of our reservoirs at the end of the trip. I thanked the Hungarian "woman" and left the building.
There stood Sean and his board shorts. We decided to rest for a few minutes because we were pretty sore by this point. This is where a challenge was made. I told Sean he needed to talk to any people we saw in a Southern accent. He also needed to include something of a "Yeehaw" or something similar by the end of the conversation. All this had to be done without laughing. Sounds retarded, I know. See what happens when you don't have any human contact besides Sean in 3 days?
I'll leave the next bit for Part 2. That way I can start the next entry on a good note.
The logic of retiring before the sun going down was to get up early the next morning and begin our 15 mile trek to Rowardennan (unsure about how you say this one. I think it's something like...Frank) where, hopefully, we'd be able to rest again. The morning was still cold. Frost was built up on the grass, the condensation from our tent had even frozen. The real question, however, was whether or not Sean's battery had fully charged. As we ate breakfast and took down our tent, Sean noticed that Yes! His battery had charged!
I checked the information board in the shack which had random bits of information. It stated that the next town over was called Drymen (pronounced Drih-men). This town had a post office, a convenience store and a pub. Opening times were also listed on the board. The post office opened at 9 am so I thought it would be good to show up around then to mail postcards to family to tell them we're still ok.
On the way to Drymen. In the distance you can see Loch Lomond. This is the lake we hiked along for most of our trip.
We didn't get to the post office until about 10. We passed the pub, which was closed, and went into the convenience store (called Spar). I didn't get a photo of the Spar but this is what one would look like:
I forgot to mention that one of the reasons I went to bed so early the night before was that my headlamp was accidentally left on throughout the day by the user (me). That being said, I had now joined the Brotherhood of the Dead Battery Association. Sean was the founder and president, I was just a member soon to be emeritus. Spar sold batteries and snacks.
With my newly acquired pack of AA batteries in hand, I was pretty sure that I had somehow cheated death with this purchase. I didn't really bring too many chewy snacks on the trip so I thought it wise to buy something that might be able to sustain my body with something healthy and nutritious. If you were thinking granola, you should be shot-along with the other sock and Birkenstock wearing people of Northern California. This is what I had:
You just can't go wrong with Starmix.
Next stop was the post office. Sean went in while I stayed outside with our packs. It seemed he was in there for ages. As I sat outside I noticed some interesting people going into the post office. One woman was walking two of her greyhounds.
"Good Morning," I said. "Hello!" "Are those whippets?" "No," she said in a condescending tone. "They're retired greyhounds. They used to win a lot you know."
She then started to tell me more about her dogs as I prayed Sean would just get our postcards so we could mail them and get on with our trip. After she finished instructing me on the all the subtle differences of whippets and greyhounds, she left with a smile.
Meanwhile a man was trying to pound down a door that looked like a side entrance to the post office. We exchanged looks when Sean came out. The man looked very Scottish. I think his name was Scott. If not, it really should be.
"So. You lads hiking the WHW?"
Here we go again. What an opportunity was lost to answer with something hilarious. One of these that Sean came up with after the fact was something like, "No. We're not. We're just hanging out near a post office with ticking rucksacks. You want to wait and see what happens?" Instead we just replied with a smile and a yes.
I'm glad neither of us were that clever (or stupid depending on how you think about it) because it would've taken even longer to get out of Drymen. At the request of Mr. Ford, here are some more pictures. The door he was pounding on was actually a person's house.
Onward. As you can see we did have to hike through towns at some points. Drymen would be the last town we would see because after this would be nothing but hamlets, the odd cottage, sheep, cows and wilderness. Oh the adventure continues.
Next adventure is Conic Hill. The hill has an elevation of 1184 ft. above sea level. That doesn't sound really high does it? Well with nasty weather it proves to be very dangerous so we decided to suit up before our ascent.
Sean was convinced he was going to end me. So I took another photo of him. I figured the more photos I took, the less chance there was for me to die without some kind of photographic evidence.
Our confidence was still pretty high at this point because our gear was holding up rather well. We invested in name brands such as Northface, Marmot, Vasque and...Teva. Our trousers weren't exactly dry at this point because we didn't think to change those before we went up the hill. Enter skiing Sean.
Sean was feeling so good about himself that he decided not to end my life in the Scottish wilderness. Instead he thought skiing on wet grass was the next best thing. Surprisingly, he was really really good at it. I advised that it would be awesome for people at home to see this newly acquired skill. You know how some people fold under pressure?
Sean is no exception.
We decided not to summit the hill because the weather was absolutely atrocious and Sean's trousers were muddy and it looked as if he'd had some bad curry the night before. We made it to Balmaha (pronounced Bahl-maha...kind of like Omaha but not) famous for its...boats?
Apparently if you want to get a swift boot to the arse you head left of the sign.
Wet trousers and hunger had brought morale down pretty low when we got to Balmaha. We did get a boost of confidence because according to what we had read, the Balmaha Welcome Center was great for providing maps and guides of the West Highland Way (not to mention somewhere warm to sit in even for a few minutes). We approached the building and noticed they even had benches outside! We were in heaven. Sean went over to the door and...locked. I checked my watch. It still wasn't April 1st which is no doubt when the place opens.
The only thing that was open was a public restroom. I decided to put my dry trousers on first because I'm selfless like that. Just as I finished putting my dry clothing on, I saw what looked like a first aid kit hanging near the sink on the way out. As I got closer it became clear as to what it really was. It was in fact an electric hand dryer. Would it be turned on before April 1st? This country seemed to be exceptionally obsessed with April Fool's Day.
NO! I must have missed byelaw 286b paragraph 18 of the Scottish code of conduct. I imagine it would read something like this:
"All edifices public and private must remain closed and boarded up until April 1st. Exceptions to said rule are public restrooms with electric hand dryers for they must stay open year round..."
After warming my hands for an undisclosed amount of time, I told Sean that he should also change clothing and partake of the hand dryer. He did so. I stuffed my face with food while he did so.
Upon his return we decided to hash over the remaining 6 or 7 miles we had yet to hike for the day. Sean busted out his waterproof map of the WHW and we discussed that we needed to hike quickly or we wouldn't make it before nightfall. We both then started to put our packs on when a Scottish man pulled his car over to where we were and asked if we knew where the Marina was.
This was our first time to Balmaha (apparently his as well). Sean stepped forward (as he does) to give this guy some direction in his life.
"Do ya know where the Marina might be lads?" "Marina?" Sean asked. "Well let's see. I got this map."
He brought out the map we were just looking at. It was about as useful as a globe.
Sean explained, "Well, as you can see. We're heeeere. Which means your marina...well you can't really see it on this map. I'm not from around here." "I gathered," said Scott.
Scott walked away confused, angry and now even more lost than he was before his conversation with Sean. Sounds like most people Sean speaks to.
Nothing was said between Sean and I after that conversation because we didn't want to say anything mean about poor Scott. The silence was broken by my mentioning something Sean was standing in front of. Here's what Scott would've seen if Sean hadn't been blocking the way:
A highly detailed map of modern day Balmaha complete with Marina, pubs, bus stops and public restrooms.
We both had a good laugh at Scott's expense, of course, and headed for one more trip to the magical loo with the hand dryer. Every time a person uses the dryer, a little red light turned on and the machine would pump out heavenly hot air for about a minute or so and then turn off. I did this about three more times until the red light would come on but no hot air would blow out. Sorry people of Balmaha. We wouldn't have had this problem had your welcome center been open and warm.
For the next 4 hours we hiked mostly up. Our anticipated speed was drastically reduced because of the uphill struggle and we saw this progression:
I would've taken a photo of a friendly looking sign we saw when we finally got to Rowardennan. The sign read:
Rowardennan B & B. £29/person Walkers welcome!
It had been pouring down with rain the whole day and did not look like it was going to stop any time soon (what did I really expect? It's friggin' Scotland). We didn't want to be mucking about with a tent and would love a warm meal. We also wanted to ask the hotel if they knew if the hostel was open or not. Sean had really done his research and knew that there was a hostel that charged a nominal fee for a dry place to stay.
The night had definitely fallen and we could see the hotel maybe 50 yards ahead. Our plan was to ask if the hostel was open. If so, we'd stay at the hostel. If not, we'd stay at this wonderful B&B and thank Sean's nana for it later. There were pieces of A4 paper stuck on every window of the B&B that said:
HOTEL CLOSED DUE TO A BURST PIPE. NO ACCOMMODATIONS AVAILABLE.
That's it. No more information. We just wanted to know if the hostel was open. We thought it prudent to persist and knock on the front door and ring the doorbell. Nothing. We saw a light on. It was only about 8pm. They were probably instead drinking tea and nibbling on their rich tea biscuits. Jerks.
We kept on.
We found a sign with an arrow pointing right and the words YOUTH HOSTEL. Finally. We walked another 20 yards to a building that was locked up. Sean then insisted that this hostel looked nothing like the one on the internet. I tried to picture what it might have looked like on the internet. Let me help you because I couldn't do it either.
The locked building in front of us looked nothing like this. I tried to take a picture but the Scottish night was like a black hole in that it didn't let light travel beyond its source. The one good thing about the building is that it provided us with good protection from the lovely Caribbean winds Sean spoke of earlier. We thought we'd set up our tent in silent protest of byelaw 286b paragraph 18 of the Scottish code of conduct.
Here's what the lock looked like:
This picture is for Randy and anyone else who still has the mind of a 14 year old. Me included.
Oh well. My headlamp was now going to be put to great use tonight. I opened the battery compartment and noticed that my headlamp didn't take AA batteries. It took AAA. I was back in the Brotherhood baby! Fortunately, Sean had some extra AAA's and was nice enough to give them up. Sean, by the way, was still an active member because his camera had blown through the remaining battery power he had left.
Sean's camera - 2; Sean - 0
Us in all our glory!
I'd like to draw special attention to what Sean is holding in his shivering hands. It looks like a tissue. It's not a tissue. It once looked like this:
On the package the instructions read: Open package and shake. In 15-20 minutes your sac magique should heat up to 120-140 degrees. Sean shook and rubbed the thing for a good 30 minutes while I got our food ready. He gave up on the darned thing and set up the tent and put the sac magique into his dry sleeping bag (we had special compression sacks that kept our sleeping bags not only dry, but also to a manageable size for packing purposes).
After getting into dry clothing, our food was ready to eat. We ate inside our tents and inside our sleeping bags. Our sleeping bags were lifesavers. They were rated far below the temperature outside so we slept warmly and comfortably...until the Scottish Police came.
Well we don't really know who it was. A car stopped dead in front of our tent which was on the front porch of a closed up building. They stared at us and then took off. This happened twice. I think we were dancing the line on violation of the byelaws.
We finally got to bed around 9pm. As I layed warmly and snugly in my awesome sleeping bag I got a nudge in my side. My first reaction was to check my watch. It never lies. 3 am.
"Dude! Check this out! Hold this!!!" Sean exclaimed in glee.
Hang on. Two dudes. One tent. This is not sounding hetero at all. I decided to play it safe and put my hand high up in the air. Sean slides what feels like a napkin into my hands. It was an odd sensation. A hot sensation...around 120 degrees hot. "What is that?" "Rod! It's my hand warmer! It finally works!!"
We both burst out laughing at 3am in the pouring rain and 30mph wind. It's the little things in life. That being said, never buy Coleman anything, no matter how small in size it might be. I guess it's not that the darned things didn't work, it's just that they take a lot of planning to use. 6 hours? Seriously Coleman. Get a job.
